


you do make me hard, but she makes me weak

by pennydown



Category: Zero Escape (Video Games)
Genre: 1950s AU, Multi, a fireman a detective and a psychic walk into a bar, everyone is emotional., lots of pining. lots., three idiots fall in love kinda.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydown/pseuds/pennydown
Summary: Junpei isn't interested in the waitress.He's interested in the apparently profoundly lonely man across from him, explaining the contents of a dossier and showing Junpei photos over increasingly worse cups of coffee. He gestures with his hands when he talks, too, the corners of his lips curling into a smile on some sentences, and his (gloriously thick) eyebrows knitting into a line when he's frustrated."Junpei, wait. Ah, my telephone number. In case you have information, or... Want to join me for breakfast again.""... Ah. You're interested in me."





	you do make me hard, but she makes me weak

**Author's Note:**

> sorry i took some liberties with the timeline.  
> casual tws for implied mental illness and tobacco/alcohol/light drug use!

He figured the only good part of the string of fires that lit up the city at night meant that Junpei spent a lot of time with the fire chief. While he certainly didn’t enjoy the task at hand (investigating burning buildings and ashes, poring over dossiers with the chief, comforting displaced residents), he enjoyed the company it brought. Being a young, new detective meant that Junpei didn’t have any friends on the force—and so, it tended to turn out that he looked forward to arson, looked forward to investigative meetings, if only because it meant Carlos’ company.

Unlike most things in his life, Junpei can pinpoint a specific, exact time when his feelings toward Carlos went from lukewarm to fond, when he stopped giving the taller man confused glances at his suggestions of a bond that did not exist, and when he started flashing smiles at the blond when they met.

It started around fire number three, the first time Junpei had been called to investigate a possible arson, that the blond's hair caught his attention. He was handsome, yet hardened- the lines of his face were deep and troubled, as Carlos called out directions to the other firefighters, who knew the routine so well by this point they were like a well-oiled machine. By the time Junpei had figured out he was staring, Carlos had sauntered to his side, easily dwarfing him ( _and allowing Junpei a moment of feeling emasculated_ ) before Carlos was offering him the tarnished metal, a sad, empty smile drawing across his lips when Junpei turned his chin away from the flames to peer at the taller man.

"Drinking on the job, chief?" He asked, dryly, twisting the metal to watch it gleam in the amber light. Across the street, people were peering out of their windows, the street cops were quietly talking to the tenants, and Junpei could feel it was going to be a long night. Quietly, Carlos followed his gaze, eyebrows raised quietly and curiously. A silent moment of understanding passes between the two men; a moment of collective exhaustion at the beginning of their evening.

"Listen, detective," he begins, the smooth baritone of his voice drawing Junpei's attention like a moth to a flame, and he quietly twists the flask open to take a sip. Carlos somehow looks magically ethereal when backlit by amber, and the nearly effortless smile that crosses his cheeks manages to take Junpei’s breath away. "If you’re here, that means someone other than me thinks it’s arson. If that’s the case, then I’m sure this won’t be the last time we meet. I don’t want you to have to put up with this bullshit—and us—sober." His joke is somehow perfectly balanced between self-deprecating and concerned for Junpei’s wellbeing, an echo of his banter with Akane, and he winces.

"Bold," Junpei starts hoarsely, trying to swallow down the wince in his expression. Apparently the fire chief had a penchant for cheap, burning whiskeys, the kind that left a hurt that made every breath after feel like sweet relief. Carlos raises his eyebrows, curiously, and Junpei remembers that he started a sentence. “Bold of you to assume I’m ever sober, chief.”

" _Carlos_ ," he corrects, taking his own quick sip of the whiskey before tucking it back into his jacket. "Only my mother calls me chief." A teasing glint flashes in his eyes, looking at Junpei like he was somehow impossibly fond of him, and Junpei frowns stonily. “I assumed you’re sober because the only other people I’ve seen take shots so pathetically were teenage girls.”

Before Junpei can retort, Carlos’ attention is stolen by the firemen, and he smiles apologetically (which is ludicrous, to Junpei—who apologizes for doing their job?) before jogging away, already tugging on a fire-jacket, ready to jump heroically into the flames. Junpei doesn’t know how he can stand being a hero, when the payoff is so criminally minimal. Quietly, he watches Carlos tend to the fire before remembering he also had a job to do, and set off interviewing the tenants, interviewing neighbours, and quietly picking through the rubble at the edge of the fire. It’s not very helpful, but he didn’t expect it to be—in fact, the most helpful person is currently hauling a hose to a nearby hydrant- and Junpei decides to quietly watch the firemen work.

After fire three is nothing but a pile of wet ash, an empty space in the skyline, Junpei wordlessly follows Carlos to his truck. Earlier in the evening (morning? Junpei couldn’t remember) a promise to discuss the fires over breakfast was made—which brings Junpei to sit in a strangely well-kept truck, smelling faintly of cinnamon and sandalwood. Automatically, reflexively, Junpei fumbles in his coat pocket for a cigarette and his matchbook, but the second he gets the match lit, Carlos extinguishes the flame with his fingers.

“I don’t like the smell,” he explains, leaving Junpei awkwardly holding his cigarette between his lips. He almost suggests that he hop out and take a few drags, but the stony look in Carlos’ eyes convinces otherwise. He starts driving away as Junpei replaces the cigarette into his pocket, leaving the two men sitting in cool silence.

The sun was now peeking up over the buildings, and Junpei squints, feeling like the early burn of daylight was an assault to his senses. Carlos laughs appreciatively, and then quietly fumbles through his glovebox before handing Junpei a pair of sunglasses.

"You've got to stop giving me things, Carlos," Junpei mutters, "It'll seem like you like me."

"It's not that I _like_ you," he explains, voice smooth and slow like molasses, and Junpei thinks Carlos could dictate physics textbooks to him and make it sound interesting. "It's that I can't keep looking in your sad eyes. Who _hurt_ you?" And while the Junpei of a few years ago may have shot back with a snotty remark, the fact that Carlos can recognize how sad he is throws Junpei for a loop, and he sits in rather awkward silence, thumbing at the hem of his coat. He spares the blond a glance, which Carlos returns with the doe-eyed, confused stare of a big, lovable dog, and it makes Junpei taste bile.

"... It's a long story, I think. The short answer is detective work."

"And what's the _long_ answer?"

Junpei's lips curl into a frown, and he considers the answer in silence. What was the long answer? He hadn't considered it, really- favouring swallowing each of his feelings down with a valium- and part of him wondering why he's considering telling Carlos at all- Carlos was a virtual stranger, but perhaps that was the allure of baring his feelings to the strange man. He folds his arms, tilting his head lazily as though feigning indifference would save him from having to be honest. "The long answer is, ah... I guess I'm lonely. Someone I really care about just.. Disappeared."

He expects, for a moment, for the typical pitying words of everyone else he's told; expects Carlos to click his tongue and treat Junpei with baby gloves for a few moments, not treading so dangerously as to ask who died-- but instead, Carlos frowns quietly, chewing his lip and nodding. "I get it," he says, softly- and Junpei realizes that Carlos _understands_. Stunned, Junpei stares up at the man as they pull into a parking space, the blond effortlessly hopping out and giving Junpei a curious stare when he doesn't immediately follow. Scrambling, Junpei hops out of the truck and follows him, adjusting his hat and tie as they're greeted by a tired-eyed, monotone waitress. 

But Junpei isn't interested in the waitress. 

He's interested in the apparently profoundly lonely man across from him, explaining the contents of a dossier and showing Junpei photos over increasingly worse cups of coffee. He gestures with his hands when he talks, too, the corners of his lips curling into a smile on some sentences, and his (gloriously thick) eyebrows knitting into a line when he's frustrated. Junpei spends practically the entire morning listening to Carlos and staring at the blond- and when they finally pay their tab and leave the diner, it's well past noon. Carlos checks his watch, embarrassed, and then the two scramble to Carlos' truck before they get home too late to catch some sleep before their respective shifts. As the truck pulls up behind Junpei's station wagon, Carlos gently grabs Junpei's wrist.

"Junpei, wait," he mutters, fumbling in his breast pocket for a moment before carefully pulling out a folded paper napkin from the diner. He hands it to Junpei, who quietly unfolds the paper until he's left staring at a neatly written string of numbers. "Ah, my telephone number. In case you have information, or... Want to join me for breakfast again."

"... Ah. You're interested in me."

"Your brain, actually."

"Really?"

"Among other things."

_(It's then that Junpei notices the lack of a ring on Carlos' left hand.)_

* * *

It's in between fires seven and eight, when Junpei's two glasses into a bottle of shitty scotch, when his phone rings, angry and disruptive, from his desk. Quickly downing the rest of his glass, he picks up the phone, rubbing his temple as he answers. "Ah, hello?"

"Junpei! Oh, good-"

 _(Is Carlos_ slurring _?)_

"-I need to talk to you. Ah, uh, about the case. I figured something out."

"Oh. _Oh_! Shit, Carlos. That's great."

"Come over, I'll show you."

That was how Junpei found himself, too many drinks in, taking a taxi to Carlos' townhouse, a quaint brick building built on a hill, giving the whole road an unnervingly steep slant. His door is black, cold and uninviting, yet exquisitely mysterious. Junpei knocks, five percussive raps (an old habit), and is almost immediately greeted by a rather disheveled Carlos. His blond hair, usually neatly gelled, is slightly unkempt, as though he had been running his hands through it. He wears a pin-striped pink shirt, delicately masculine, which is unbuttoned just enough to reveal his deliciously tight under-shirt, and-- oh, _wow_ , Junpei might have had too much to drink. He leans against the doorframe, smiling lazily at Junpei, who manages to duck under his arm to cross the threshold and begin taking off his jacket, hanging up his hat, and slowly putting away his shoes before turning back toward Carlos. 

His gaze is intense, as usual, and Junpei raises his eyebrows, folding his arms across his chest with a sigh. He feels underdressed, in a black t-shirt and pants because they were his only clean clothes. It's not common, of course, that he feels insecure beneath Carlos' gaze, but he swallows his insecurity down with a tilt of his head. "So what is this about?"

“Well, it’s not entiiirely related to the case,” Carlos explains, running a hand through his already-messy hair, and Junpei follows the movement of the muscles in the other man’s arm hungrily, like an owl watching prey. “But it is. But, uh, the important part is that, ah—because when we solve this, it’ll be unlikely we work together again, or even see each other,” and he’s stumbling over his sentences, speaking faster, leaving Junpei blinking, slowly.   
  
“My, my, Carlos— are you trying to tell me you enjoy my company?”  
  
“I- well, yeah-“ he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before shaking his head, and—  
  
_(Oh, wow.)_  
  
He had stepped forward to press his lips against Junpei’s: surprisingly soft, shy, and questioning, it feels like Junpei’s first kiss, back when he was a teenager, and he blinks slowly, before fluttering his eyes shut. His hands slide to rest against Carlos' chest, feeling his percussive heartbeat, and after a few moments, he feels Carlos chuckle against his lips. "Sorry, I'm a bad kisser," he whispers, moving his lips against Junpei's. Junpei shivers.

"It's fine, I remember. You were never, ah, interested in romance, right?"

"You know me so well," Carlos whispers, sliding one of his hands into Junpei's back pocket, and Junpei finds himself being led to Carlos' couch, a development he doesn't mind in the slightest. After an embarrassingly high number of misfires, they finally end up in a comfortable position: Junpei straddles Carlos' lap, his hands resting on the blond's shoulders as they kiss, desperate and eager, Carlos' hands wandering all over Junpei's lithe figure. He's smaller than the muscular man before him, sinewy and thin, but Carlos eats up every inch of his skin, sometimes becoming so distracted that his lips slow against Junpei's own. It seems like forever, that they carry on like this, until Carlos is insistently mumbling against Junpei's lips.

"Mm..? What's that, chief?"

"... 've never done this before," he murmurs.

Those words cause Junpei to sit back on his hips, blinking owlishly at the hulking man before him, cheeks flushed red and bashful gaze avoiding Junpei's eyes. His chest is heaving, and Junpei's gaze lingers a little too long on the flush of red that carries on down Carlos' pale neck, likely tinting his chest pink, too. Junpei wants to see-- but there are more pressing matters at hand, like the fact that Carlos may or may not be a _virgin_.

"Like, this, or like, sex," Junpei says, dumbly, running his fingers through his messy hair. Carlos' eyebrows raise to his hairline, apparently in shock, before he nervously waves his hands. He hadn't realized that, perhaps, not everyone was as well-acquainted with the city's gay scene (even if Junpei wasn't _gay_ -), not everyone spent boozy, lonely nights in the arms of other lonely men who he always forgot to call back. 

"Like _this_! I- I've had sex, just, uh... Not recently. Dry spell, and all."

He looks so, so earnest, so genuine, that Junpei swallows down a snarky reply and instead peers carefully into the other man's lovely, lovely green eyes. He's giving Junpei the doe-eyed, wide-eyed stare of a starlet, long thick eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks when he closes his eyes. He's enrapturing, he's beautiful, and in that heartbeat Junpei realizes just how much he's come to adore this golden retriever of a man. Slowly, he leans forward to kiss him again, slow and passionate, and feels Carlos' heart pound against his ribcage, his breath stutter in his chest.

"Let me take the lead, okay," Junpei murmurs, deftly moving his hands to unbutton the rest of Carlos' shirt, trailing his fingertips along his abs (!!!!), dancing a teasing path to Carlos' belt. The poor thing looks like he can barely breathe, tipping his head back against the couch, lips fluttering raggedly as Junpei teases him.

"Okay," Carlos whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on twitter @tsuremodose !!  
> sorry no porn yet. you'll get it first thing next chapter :*

**Author's Note:**

> title from the 1975's 'be my mistake'.  
> akane comes in chapter two, don't worry!


End file.
